


Unexpectedly

by Drel_Murn



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Age Dysphoria, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Body Dysphoria, Crimes & Criminals, Dimension Travel, Drugs, Gen, Half-Siblings, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Italian Mafia, Lambo is Tsuna's age, Like, Organized Crime, Overdose, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Sawada Iemitsu's A+ Parenting, Time Travel, but with time travel, kind of, mentions of the Vongola Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drel_Murn/pseuds/Drel_Murn
Summary: You really know you're out of options when you decide to train a suicidal civilian to be a Mafia Don, but it's not like Vongola can wait another 14 years.





	1. Chapter 1

“Aa! Dame-Tsuna? You’re still alive-ugh!”

 

“Tsuna!” Takeshi says excitedly, not looking back at the pair of second-years he ran over to get to Tsuna. “Your mom finally let you come back?”

 

The courtyard is silent. Everyone notices the track (and band, but less people care about that) star talking to Dame-Tsuna. It does not compute. Before Dame-Tsuna can answer, however, Sasagawa Ryohei comes out of absolutely-goddamn-nowhere, yelling “Extreme! Tsuna! You’re back in school!”

 

Further silence, because Sasagawa Ryohei may mostly be known for trying to convince absolutely everyone to join the track club, but his younger sister is _Sasagawa Kyoko_ , who has managed to become an idol for the whole school in the short months since she started. In this silence, everyone can clearly hear Tsuna’s words as he says softly, “Yeah. Hibari-sensei insisted that keeping me at home any longer would just be detrimental.”

 

Even further silence, because _Hibari-sensei_ ? Like _Hibari Kyoya_? Everyone abruptly notices Kusakabe-sempai, Hibari Kyoya’s right hand man, standing behind the group of three and glaring at everyone else.

 

The conversations abruptly start up again, this time with a fresh helping of gossip. Everyone is so focused on trying to figure out the implications of Dame?-Tsuna’s new friendships, that none of them notice the group of three slip into the school building, followed by their irritated watcher.

 

“So, Tsuna,” Takeshi asks as they pause to switch shoes. “I’ll get you a copy of my notes tonight.”

 

“Ah- no offence, Takeshi, but I’ll be fine.”

 

“Tsuna, you know you shouldn't be writing this soon,” Ryohei says immediately. “Your wrist is still too weak-”

 

“Honestly Ryohei, I’ll be fine. Beside, you didn’t think Hibari-sensei would have sent me back to school if she didn’t think I could do it?” Tsuna turns around, and his gaze narrows unearlingly on Kusakabe. “My notes, please.”

 

Kusakabe hands over a thick packet in a color-coded multiple-partition folder. “Don’t forget to come to the reception room after school, alright?”

 

“Of course, Kusakabe.”

 

Kusakabe eyes Tsuna like he wants to believe that every word which comes out of his mouth is sarcastic, but can’t quite make the effort. Then he turns on his heel and leaves, stalking towards the staircase and likely returning to the reception room.

 

“Wow, Tsuna,” Takeshi says once he’s judged that Kusakabe is out of hearing range, “when you said that you made friends with Hibari-san, I thought you were joking!”

 

“I extremely figured that you managed to evade him, and told us you befriended him so we wouldn’t be embarrassed that you managed it even though you’re not on track,” Ryohei says.

 

“I didn’t say we were friends,” Tsuna replies with a slight air of exasperation as he opens the folder and riffles through the papers, and the three of them start towards their classes. “He took one look at me, got this horridly guilt expression, and kidnapped me off to the reception room to pet me hair and mutter about endangered animals. And _hilksoyng_. . .”

 

Tsuna trailed off with a frown

 

“What was that?” Ryohei asks. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

 

“He looked so young,” Tsuna repeats a bit louder. “I forgot how young he was. Hibari-san is two years younger than us, but he’s already taking over.”

 

“Are you jealous?”

 

“Wow, Tsuna, I didn’t take you as one with plans to take over the town.”

 

“Wait- Takeshi, that’s not what I meant-”

 

“Don’t worry! I’m sure that you can take back the town with our support!”

 

“And Hibari-sensei would _kill_ me for hurting her baby cousin, _no thank you_ Takeshi,” Tsuna says quickly.

 

“Not to mention my extreme little sister’s friend,” Ryohei adds with a dramatic shudder. “Have you seen what she does to boys who try to ask Kyoko out?”

 

“We can do it!” Takeshi insists cheerfully.

 

“Please no,” Tsuna says. He sounds resigned though, like he knows that Takeshi is going to insist on taking over the town anyways. The three of them part ways at the next branch, Tunsa and Takeshi turning to take the stairs, and Ryohei going straight.

 

Takeshi sits on Tsuna’s desk as they wait for homeroom to start, absently going through the fingerings to his favorite song as Tsuna reads the notes in the folder Kusakabe gave him.

 

Takeshi glances down once, and he stops to watch Tsuna’s eyes as Tsuna reads with military precision. Takeshi’s fingers still, poised around thin air, before he tears his gaze away. He doesn’t look down again.

 

Takeshi files it away with all of the other things that are different about Tsuna since Ryohei started dragging him on their morning runs, like the way he moves (confident, not slouching and trying to make himself smaller) and the way he speaks (way to polite for a kid, he speaks like an adult). He leaves when the bell rings.

 

Tsuna spends most of the day looking out the windows, looking like he’s looking for something. One teacher asks him a question and is cowed by his quiet, immediate, _correct_ response. It was something that even the better students had been struggling with, something Dame-Tsuna, with three and a half missed months of school definitely shouldn’t have been able to. Takeshi files it away.

 

Hibari-san appears at the class room door at lunch, a command in the way he motions impatiently for Tsuna, and as Takeshi follows the both of them out, he can’t help but watch the back of Hibari-san’s head.

 

 _Young_ , Tsuna had called him. No one thinks of Hibari-san as young when he’s known for beating both bullies and innocents up on the thinnest of excuses, but even just watching him from behind, he looks so small.

 

Then suddenly the school day is over, and Ryohei and Takeshi are laughing at some joke as they walk up to Tsuna’s house, and Tsuna opens to door to a European kid in a black suit with a yellow pendant hanging from a silver chain around his neck. The kid eyes Takeshi and Ryohei for a moment before his dark eyes settle on Tsuna.

 

“Ciaossu, Tsuna,” he says. “I’m Reborn, your new home tutor.”

 

He pauses for a moment, eyes dancing over then again. “I’m here to train you to be a mafia boss.”

 

Ryohei and Takeshi look at Tsuna. He doesn’t look the faintest bit surprised. Just resigned.

 

“Extreme! Tsuna, is that a game you’re playing?” Ryohei asks.

 

“Ah,” Takeshi says, laughing. “Tsuna, this is awesome! You’ll be able to take over the town even easier this way!”

 

“Takeshi - no,” Tsuna groans, dropping his head to cradle it in his hands. “I told you I don’t want to take over the town, I think Hibari-san is doing a perfectly good job.”

 

“Tsuna, is that you?” a male voice calls from somewhere in the house.

 

Tsuna freezes. Takeshi looks at him. Ryohei looks at him. Reborn looks at him. Ryohei makes an executive decision; he slams the door shut in Reborn’s face, picks Tsuna up, and starts running away from Tsuna’s house.

 

“Takeshi, I think it would be an extremely good idea to go visit my sister now, don’t you?” Ryohei asks, as if he’s not casually carrying Tsuna.

 

Back in the house, Reborn’s eyes narrow and he turns on his heel as Iemitsu pokes his head out of the living room. That is not how someone should act in response to their own father, and considering what recently happened . . .

 

Outside, Tsuna starts struggling after only a couple of houses, and Ryohei quickly stops to set him down.

 

“Are you extremely alright?” he asks as Tsuna as he watches the younger boy collapse into himself, hunching his shoulders and ducking low.

 

“I’m fine,” Tsuna mumbles.

 

“That didn’t look like fine to me,” Takeshi says. He’s eyeing Tsuna’s house like he’s contemplating the best way to burn it down - preferably with Iemitsu inside, and Tsuna safely under Tsuyoshi’s supervision.

 

“Really,” Tsuna insists, and Ryohei can see him making an effort to uncurl himself, but the moment he tries to smile at Takeshi, his shoulders roll right back up. “I’m fine.” It doesn’t make for a very convincing picture.

 

“Right,” Ryohei says. “Let’s extremely visit Kyoko anyways. Takeshi-”

 

“I’ll call my dad, get him to arrange a sleepover,” Takeshi says, and he slings an arm over Tsuna’s shoulder as the trio starts to walk again. “It’ll be fun! We can stay up way past our bedtime, eat a ton of junk food, and not brush our teeth!”

 

“. . . I think we have different ideas of fun,” Tsuna mutters, but as Takeshi and Ryohei keep talking about all the things they’ll do at the sleep over that night, he slowly relaxes. He doesn’t stop glancing over his shoulders though, and Takeshi and Ryohei notice this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reborn calls in the middle of the night to tell Tsuna's friends that his dad is gone, Ryohei swears undying loyalty to Tsuna, and a mysterious transfer student arrives.

Ryohei answers the phone the next morning, still half asleep.

 

“Yamamoto Tsuyoshi?” some kid asks as Ryohei settles on one of the stools at the counter.

 

“No,” Ryohei says. “This is Sasagawa Ryohei. Do you want me to get Tsuyoshi?

 

“No. I actually wanted to talk to you or Yamamoto Takeshi. I’m Reborn, Tsuna’s home tutor. I’m calling to let you know that both of Tsuna’s parents are currently out of the country, and won’t be there if he comes home today.”

 

Ryohei blinks, then sits up much straighter. “You got rid of that guy? The one that made Tsuna freeze?”

 

“Yes,” Reborn says. There’s a moment filled by the slight static of the phone lines. Ryohei watches Tsuna frown in his sleep and turn over, pulling away from where Takeshi had moved closer to him.

 

“How serious were you about training Tsuna to be a mafia boss?” Ryohei asks. He pauses, considers his right arm. He’d regained almost full function after he hurt himself when he pressed too hard, but . . . he hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder, listening to Reborn’s explanation about just why exactly Tsuna was chosen, and presses gently at his right elbow with his left hand. He winces as even the slight pressure makes his elbow collapse, and the phone falls to the carpet with a quiet thump.

 

Ryohei quickly picks it up again, glancing at the living room to make sure he didn’t wake Tsuna or Takeshi up. The kid on the other side is asking what happened, but Ryohei ignores him and asks, “Could you train me too?”, and the kid goes silent.

 

There’s the sound of rustling papers. “Sasagawa Ryohei. Former captain of the Namimori Middle boxing club before he sustained an arm injury in a training accident.”

 

Ryohei’s fingers clench on the phone, but Reborn goes on mercilessly. “Currently one of the top long distance runners in the track club, noted for his natural potential and friendship with Yamamoto Takeshi.”

 

“And?” Ryohei asks when the kid doesn’t go on.

 

“I’m not about to train you for free. Would you pledge your loyalty to Tsuna?” Reborn asks. “I know you’re friends, and that you’ll help him, but would you pledge your loyalty to him?”

 

Ryohei thinks about it. He thinks about why he’s asking for training. He thinks about what it is, exactly, that Reborn is promising, and what he’s asking for. He thinks about his little sister, who learned to shoot guns with her best friend. He thinks about Tsuna, freezing at the sound of his father’s voice, Tsuna who tried to kill himself. He thinks about Yamamoto Takeshi, who has edges too sharp, who used to play baseball and switched to track because he didn’t like the way his team mate were trying to make him responsible for winning the game with or without them, who took up the flute because there were always too many of flute players so they didn’t (wouldn’t, couldn’t) depend on him.

 

And yes, Ryohei thought about his arm. He thought about the fact that even this training probably wouldn’t give full use back to him.

 

“I would,” he says, and he’s vaguely surprised at how steady his voice comes out.

 

“Come to Tsuna’s house after school today,” the kid says. “We’ll talk about your training regiment.”

 

There’s a click, then a dial tone, and Ryohei pulls the phone away from his ear. Then he sets the phone back into its charging station, walks back to his spot on the floor, and pulls his blankets over himself again. He can deal with it in the morning.

 

Ryohei stirs a while later to the sound of quiet voices. The voices pause as he shifts under his blankets. He jerks when a hand lands on his shoulder, and Tsuna quickly pulls back.

 

“Sorry,” Tsuna whispers. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Takeshi’s still asleep and I didn’t want you to wake him up. Yamamoto-san’s making us breakfast. You can get up now, or sleep in for a couple more minutes.”

 

“Alright,” Ryohei whispers back. He lays under the covers for a couple more minutes, savoring the warmth, before he reluctantly pulls himself out. In the kitchen, Tsuna’s sitting on the stool that Ryohei sat on when he answered the phone. Yamamoto-san is standing in front of the stove, waving a spatula as he recounts some story about his wife. Ryohei grabs a couple of pancakes from the plate next to the stove and settles onto the stool next to Tsuna.

 

Takeshi groans his way out of sleep a couple of minutes later and stumbles into the kitchen to sit at the stool next to Tsuna, where Yamamoto-san had placed the last of the pancakes, cut into bite sized pieces, before he started packing lunches for the three of them. Takeshi stares uncomprehendingly at the plate for a moment before Tsuna laughs and taps him on the hand with the fork that had been sitting next to the plate.

 

“Is he extremely always like this in the morning?” Ryohei asks, watching as Takeshi slowly lifts the fork to his mouth, his eyes still half closed, and Yamamoto-san laughs.

 

“Yeah, he’s always like this.” Yamamoto-san smiles at him son as he puts the three wrapped bentos on the island. “I think he gets it from his mother, she was always a but of a zombie for the first couple minutes after she woke up.”

 

Tsuna glances at his watch then stands up. “Alright. We need to go soon, so I’m going to go change into my school uniform.”

 

At those words, Ryohei stands too, and Yamamoto-san nudges Takeshi to his feet. In a couple of minutes, they’re all back in the kitchen, grabbing their bentos and backpack, and waving to Yamamoto-san as they leave the house.

 

“Ah! That reminds me,” Ryohei says as they pass a travel agency. “Tsuna, your new tutor called in inform you that your parents went on an extreme surprise vacation, so they won’t be there when you get home!”

 

“Surprise vacation?” Tsuna asks.

 

“That’s awesome!” Takeshi says, much more awake now that they’re walking. “If they’re gone, then you don’t need to get parental permission to take over the town!”

 

“Takeshi, why do you keep insisting that I’m going to take over the town?” Tsuna asks as the three of them pass through the school gates.

 

A wave of silence passes through the courtyard as everyone watches the trio.

 

“It’s so obvious!” Takeshi exclaims, ignoring the unusual silence of the courtyard. “Yesterday, you said that you were jealous of Hibari-san-”

 

“I said that Hibari-san looked young, and commented that he had taken over the town. I said nothing about being jealous of him.”

 

“-and you said it would be easy with Hibari-sensei and Kurokawa’s help-”

 

“I said that they would kill me for hurting their cousin.”

 

“-and then you got that awesome tutor who was part of the Italian yakuza-”

 

“Takeshi, he was a kid, he was probably playing a game or something.

 

“-and now that your parents are out of town, you don’t even have to ask permission!” Takeshi finishes triumphantly as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

 

The door to the school closes behind them, and the courtyard once again erupts into whispers. Not only was  Dame Tsuna hanging out with two track stars  _ again _ , the three of them were discussing taking the town back from  _ Hibari Kyoya-san. _ And what was that about a tutor from the Italian yakuza?

 

Inside, with two of the group mostly oblivious to the whispers and Tsuna glancing back, Ryohei ends the argument by declaring a race to Takeshi’s locker. It’s a terrible distraction because Takeshi’s locker is the closest locker, and it’s only 6 meters away, but a fire lights in Takeshi’s eyes and he chants, “Readysetgo.”

 

Ryohei and Takeshi sprint towards the corner, dodging around people, and leave Tsuna in the dust behind them. He watches them go with amused eyes, then starts to make his way to his locker. He bumps into someone as he rounds a corner and stumbles back.

 

He gets a glimpse of bloodshot green eyes and a short, curly hair before the guy he bumped into is gone, his words lingering in the air. “Watch where you’re going.”

 

Tsuna stares after him with a frown for a moment. Then he shakes his head, shoulders his bag, and sets off for his locker again. This time he makes it there without incident and quickly exchanges his outdoor shoes for his indoor shoes. Ryohei and Takeshi arrive before long, they the three of them banter down the hall before they split up, and Takeshi doesn’t bring up the subject of reclaiming the village from Hibari-san.

 

Takeshi sits on Tsuna’s desk again as they wait for homeroom, and today they talk to each other. Takeshi talks about the trip that the band is planning to take to Tokyo Disneyland in order to play in a parade and do a workshop. Tsuna nods and asks questions and glances at the door every time it opens. He looks away in disappointment when each time it’s just another one of their classmates.

 

The bell rings, and the Homeroom teacher calls the class to attention. When she’s done with roll call, she sets the attendance sheet down.

 

“Alright class, we’ve got a new student, a transfer from Italy.” She walks over to open the door. Takeshi watches the new student walk in curiously. Tsuna looks confused as the transfer student walks in and surveys the room indifferently with bloodshot green eyes as he runs a hand through his short, black hair.

 

His eyes land on Tsuna and he glares.

 

“I’m Bovino Lambo. Please take care of me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ryohei shows up at the door to Tsuna and Takeshi’s class at the beginning of lunch, so it isn’t until after school, while Tsuna sits in the stands around the track and Takeshi and Ryohei run, that Bovino has the opportunity to confront him.

 

“You,” he hisses as he settles down next to Tsuna.

 

Tsuna looks small, and he shifts away from Bovino slightly. Bovino holds it as another mark against him - along with his very  _ civilian _ friends, and his civilian habits, and his  _ stupid civilian _ amount of of knowledge about organized crime.

 

“Hello,” Tsuna replies, not glancing up from his math homework - though he doesn’t seem to actually be doing the homework considering the doodles that cover the page. Another mark against him - though Bovino had already noticed that earlier.

 

“I can’t believe you’re Vongola’s last heir,” Bovino sighs eventually, slumping like his anger had been at that kept him going

 

“Did you help Vongola find me?” Tsuna asks, glancing up from his paper to find Takeshi and Ryohei on the track. “Why?”

 

“Why do you think I’m not a part of Vongola?”

 

Tsuna silently pulls a couple of computer printouts from his backpack. One is Wikipedia’s entry for Vongola, the other is the entry for Bovino. Both are in Italian.

 

“What about them?” Bovino asks, and Tsuna finally glances at him.

 

“I  _ can _ read Italian, Bovino-san. Unless something drastic happened, you aren’t part of Vongola.”

 

“I’m . . . in limbo. You’re right, I’m not really part of Vongola.” Bovino runs a hand over his face. “I was going to be. I was guardian to Massimo - the heir before you - for a month. I’d been hanging out around the mansion since Enrico - the original heir - choose Uncle Romeo. Massimo looked at me and saw something-”

 

The two of them are silent, and the sound of feet on the ground and the coach’s yelling below seem suddenly loud.

 

“You were friends?” Tsuna asks.

 

“More than friends.” Bovino  pulls his sleeves over his hands and scrubs at his eyes. “God. Look at me. You don’t even know what a guardian is.”

 

Tsuna glances down at the track, then nudges Bovino. “Come on Bovino-san. It’s time to go.”

 

“What- oh.”

 

“Tsuna! Is he bothering you?” Takeshi asks as he stops in front of them. “Because I could-”

 

“Takeshi. Would your father extremely approve of what you’re about to say next?” Ryohei asks, shifting the strap of his bag.

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Takeshi exclaims. “He threatens our supplies with it every time they even try to sell us old fish.”

 

“In either case, no Takeshi, he wasn’t bothering me,” Tsuna cuts in before they can go too far on that tangent. He glances up from pushing his supplies into his backpack. “You remember Reborn, the kid from yesterday?”

 

Ryohei stills at the mention, but Takeshi nods.

 

“Well, Bovino-san here works with him. He was the bodyguard of one of the former heirs.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like that good of a bodyguard,” Takeshi mutters, “if the former heir is dead.”

 

“Takeshi,” Ryohei says disapprovingly as Bovino’s lips thin. “You know that no one’s extremely awake around the clock.”

 

“Come on,” Tsuna says, putting his pencils away and zipping up his backpack. “Let’s not keep my mafia tutor waiting.”

 

Bovino follows them from a distance when they leave. He catches Tsuna glancing back at him every once in a while, but never for long.

 

“Hello, Tsuna,” a high voice calls as they near his house, and almost as a unit, Tsuna, Ryohei and Takeshi swing around to see Reborn balancing on the fence across the street. “I see that Lambo has introduced himself.”

 

“Who?” Ryohei hisses to Tsuna and Takeshi.

 

“Bovino-san,” Tsuna hisses back.

 

“And you,” Reborn interrupts whatever reply Ryohei would have made, his dark eyes on Ryohei. “I see that you actually came.”

 

“What, nothing for me?” Takeshi asks after a pause.

 

“Go ask your dad, and I’ll have something for you,” Reborn promises, jumping down from the fence and crossing the street to stand in front of the group. “As it is, I have no intention of upsetting a former assassin by luring his only child back into the underworld, so I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

 

The bright green chameleon that had been sitting on his hat climbed down into his hand and turned into a gun, which he used to push up the brim of his hat. “Now, if you please.”

 

Takeshi’s eyes go dark in a way that reminds Ryohei of the look he got whenever they went past the baseball fields or when he saw one of his former teammates, but his smile didn’t slip as he raised his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask my dad for permission and be back tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?”

 

Reborn doesn’t reply, just slowly lowers the gun to point at Takeshi’s knees.

 

“See you tomorrow Tsuna, Ryohei,” Takeshi says, and he turns to walk away from the pair. Bovino catches a glimpse of the deadly calm he’d seen occasionally on the Varia as they stalked out of the mansion for a mission.

 

“Now, the rest of you, get a move on. You can’t become heir to the largest Mafia family in one day-”

 

“Reborn, why is Ryohei still here?” Tsuna interrupts.

 

There’s a pregnant pause as Bovino gapes at Tsuna’s audacity, and Reborn eyes him.

 

“He swore loyalty to you in return for training. Barely even needed prompting,” Reborn replies in a bored tone. “Not exactly the follower I would have chosen, given that he’s crippled-”

 

“Don’t,” Tsuna says, putting a hand on Ryohei’s arm as Ryohei sags, “call him crippled.”

 

There’s another pause.

 

“Nevertheless, we need to move. You’re behind where you should be as an heir, and as your tutor, it is my duty to get you up to speed. Now move. We can drop your school things off at your house and get some training in before dark.” Reborn glances at Bovino, who had stopped a couple paces behind the pair and is now hovering awkwardly. “Lambo, prepare to fight. I would like your help testing Tsuna.”

 

“Of course, Reborn,” Bovino says. He turns on his heel and quickly hurries away.

 

Tsuna pulls Ryohei with him as they approach his house. “Ryohei, you know you don’t have to do this. You’ve done so much to help me already. This is going to be dangerous - you could lose more than just your ability to support more than four and a half kilograms. You could  _ die. _ ”

 

“And you will extremely need all the help you can get, Tsuna. You may be the last eligible candidate, but I’ve watched more than enough political dramas to know that there’s going to be at least one extremely ineligible candidate with a decent amount of support - and maybe more,” Ryohei replies.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tsuna says as they walk up to his door. “You watch political dramas?”

 

“Well, Kyoko watches them, and sometimes Hana comes over so they can marathon a whole season - and you know me, I extremely can’t say no to Kyoko.”

 

“If the two of you are going to gossip all day, I’m sure I can find a way to . . . motivate you,” Reborn say from behind them, and Tsuna and Ryohei quickly set their bags down.

 

“So, where are we going for this test of yours?” Tsuna asks Reborn as they step back outside.

 

“Well,” Reborn starts with a smirk, “you know that one cliff out in the forest?”

 

“You mean the one that’s a good thirty minutes from here?” Tsuna asks with a unimpressed look.

 

“Thirty minutes?” Reborn repeats, a gleam in his eyes as he cocks his pistol. “Well then, that’s number one on the list. You will get there in five minutes or less, or I’ll have you running laps for an hour.”

 

“Right,” Tsuna replies sceptically.

 

“You have four minutes and forty five seconds remaining.”

 

Tsuna and Ryohei take off sprinting. Behind them, Reborn allows Leon to resume his chameleon form, and feeds him a regular bullet. “Good boy.”

 

Tsuna and Ryohei arrive at the cliff a minute and seventeen seconds over their allotted time, and slide to a stop in front of Bovino.

 

“What happened to you two?” Bovino asks, watching warily as the pair panted and glancing at the bullet grazes on their clothes.

 

“What . . . do you think?” Ryohei asks between gulps of air. He’s recovering faster than Tsuna, his experience on the track team showing.

 

“Slacking off already?” Reborn asks from the other side of the clearing. “Mafia heirs are able-”   
  
“-able to run a mile in four minutes without getting out of breath, I know,” Tsuna says, then returns to panting.

 

“Lambo, are you ready?” Reborn asks, seemingly determined to ignore Tsuna’s interruptions.

 

Bovino holds up a bottle of pills and rattles them before popping the cap off and tipping it to get one out. He swallows the pill and green electricity crackles to life on his forehead. “Ready, Reborn.”

 

“Then let the test begin,” Reborn says, and he shoots Tsuna before Ryohei can do anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But something is wrong here. Something is wrong with the last heir Vongola has left.

Lambo Bovino is a mess.

 

His best friend is dead. His only friend, who he was told over and over again that he was to protect with his life. His best friend, who was mailed back to him piece by piece.

 

That doesn’t even include the host of other issues caused by the activation of Dying Will flames - the fixations on other people with active Flames, burnout caused by the intensity of the required emotions, depression, PTSD, inability to let go of control, etc..

 

If Reborn had any other option, he would have the kid under psychiatric treatment, far away from anything to do with the training of Vongola’s next heir. Unfortunately, despite their wariness about Flames, Vongola’s entire succession process is based around their boss having guardians of each flame type, and at the moment, Lambo is the only unattached Lightning Flame user Vongola has control of.

 

There’s nothing Reborn can do. For all that he’s the Greatest Hitman in the world, if Vongola decides that the former (almost) guardian of their former (almost) heir needs to go test (and if possible become the guardian of) their newest heir, no one will get in their way.

 

Reborn lets Leon detransform and crawl onto the brim of his hat as he pulls it down to hide his eyes. He watches Tsuna sit up.

 

Bovino watches too, and it’s the only thing that redeems him in Reborn’s eyes. Bovino isn’t quite ready to die yet. He’s still cautious enough about facing an unknown threat that he stops to think, that he watches and gathers information and just rushing in.

 

Reborn doesn’t know what to expect as he watches Tsuna stand. He’d learned while training Enrico and Frederico that everyone reacted differently to Dying Will Bullets.

 

Enrico, even in just Dying Will Mode, has- . . . had been scarily calm. Not always rational, but when it came down to it, he did his best not to be noticed. It wasn’t exactly the best trait for the head of a mafia family, but it was better than running around and making a fool of yourself while you achieved your goal.

 

Frederico had been an odd mix of calm and exuberant. Sometimes he would do the aforementioned running around like a fool, sometimes he practically disappeared for the five minutes that the Dying Will Bullet affected him.

 

And besides the two students he’d trained in Dying Will, he’s heard of numerous other reactions - from CEDEF’s Basil and the way he seemed normal in Dying Will Mode, to what he’d heard from about Xanxus’s temper from Lal during the brief period of time it took for her to get him acclimated to sparking his own Dying Will.

 

Tsuna . . . Tsuna isn’t like any of them. Or maybe he is. He’s calm like Enrico had been, so he’s a little bit like Enrico.

 

But Tsuna didn’t go into Dying will mode, Tsuna went straight to Hyper Dying Will Mode. Reborn can see it in his eyes as he stands. There’s none of the contained fear there had been in Enrico’s eyes in Dying Will Mode. Reborn can see it in the trembling of his hands as even just ignited, the removal of Tsuna’s mental and physical limits wore on his body.

 

“Tsuna?” Sasagawa Ryohei asks, scrambling to his feet from the crouch he’d gone into to check Tsuna’s injury. “Are you extremely alright?”

 

“. . . Ryohei,” Tsuna says. The flame on his forehead flickers as he turns to look at his friend. It flickers again as he turns to look at Bovino, then dies entirely as he collapses into an alarmed Ryohei’s arms.

 

“Reborn?” Bovino asks, his flames dying as well as he takes an instinctive step forwards.

 

Reborn steps forwards. He ignores Ryohei’s flinch and aborted attempt to pull Tsuna away as he finds Tsuna’s pulse. He sits back and doesn’t bother to hide his relief when he finds Tsuna’s pulse still strong.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Reborn says as he steps away, not quite speaking to either Ryohei or Bovino as Bovino steps forwards.

 

“What did you extremely do?” Ryohei demands as Bovino asked, “Wasn’t that Hyper Dying Will Mode?”

 

“I shot him,” Reborn says, lifting Leon down from his hat as the chameleon transformed into a cell phone. “I shot him and he came back to life. These things happen.”

 

“Does that happen extremely often in the mafia?” Ryohei asks, but his eyes aren’t on Reborn. Bovino jerks back a step when he realizes that Ryohei is looking to him for the answer.

 

“No,” he says slowly, before gaining more confidence. “No, that would make things rather hard.”

 

“Why didn’t you extremely collapse when your flame went out?”

 

“He doesn’t actually know that much about flames,” Reborn interrupts as he places Leon, once again a chameleon, back onto his fedora. “As for the collapsing, that normal.”

 

“It is?” Bovino asked.

 

“Yes,” Reborn replies. “People normally collapse after the first several times they activate Hyper Dying Will Mode. You collapsed rather often, don’t you remember?”

 

“Yes, but - shouldn’t he have only accessed regular Dying Will Mode?”

 

“You should take Tsuna home now, Sasagawa Ryohei. We can talk some other time,” Reborn says as if Bovino hadn’t asked him a question.

 

Ryohei’s eyes narrow - but when he glances down at Tsuna, his gaze softens again.

 

“I can’t protect him if I don’t know what to protect him against,” he says as Reborn walks towards the edge of the clearing, and Reborn pauses next to the first tree.

 

“Something went wrong,” he admits without turning around. “I need to go figure out what it is. Tsuna should be fine when he wakes up. He shouldn’t have activated Hyper dying Will Mode so early, but . . . he should be fine. He was only active for a minute.” He pauses as Bovino shifts off to the side, a curious noise dying halfway out. “I’ll see you later, Bovino. Don’t worry. Just, there’s something I need to do first.”   
  


Reborn leaves them there, leaves them and tries not to wonder if he’s making a mistake.

 

But something is wrong here. Something is wrong with the last heir Vongola has left. Vongola can’t afford the uncertainty of being without an heir for much longer than a year. Considering that the next possible heir has yet to be born, and every other candidate (down to the last bastard child they could track down) is either dead or not a sky, Vongola is screwed if Tsuna doesn’t work out.

 

He needs to tell Timoteo.

 

(He needs to tell Superbi Squalo and Sawada Cristiana. Even without the heir, Timoteo’s word matters less and less every day as the next generation takes over.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took so long, but I had some trouble getting the tone right. It's still not the best, but I hope you guys like it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, you know? They’re the worst. Especially when you’re remembering that one time you betrayed the one person people had told you was literally more important than you in every way.

Bovino Lambo sits on the bed, waiting. He’d followed Sawada Tsunayoshi long enough to make sure that he woke up without any trouble beyond the usual symptoms of Hyper Dying Will Flames, then he’d come back here. He slept through the night and waited. He ate breakfast and waited. He got a call from Reborn to call in sick at school and waited.

 

He was used to waiting now.

 

Before, with Massimo, there was always something to do, even if it was just talking or listening to music together. Even after Enrico and Frederico died, even at their funerals, there was never just this sensation that they were just waiting for something to happen.

 

Then Massimo was kidnapped, and it seemed like he did nothing but wait anymore. Wait for news of the search parties, wait for dental identification off all of the body guards, wait for the concussion to finally slowly heal, wait for a lead, a ransom note. Wait for next piece of his body to come in the mail.

 

He feels like that one book Uncle Romeo used to read to him when he was learning English.  Waiting for a train to go, or a bus to come, or a plane to go, or the mail to come, or the rain to go, or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow, or the waiting around for a Yes or No, or waiting for hair to grow. He was just waiting.

 

Bovino knows that Massimo probably wouldn’t have wanted him to wait. Een when they barely knew each other beyond the brief introduction of “Here, you two are the same age, play nice,”, Massimo was always trying to make sure that he was alright. If this were the book - the one Romeo read, Massimo would be the one to tell him “NO! That’s not for you.”.

 

But Massimo’s not right now, and sending a prayer up in the hope that god isn’t too busy too pass it on doesn’t cut it when Lambo needs a response, needs a sign, needs to know what he’s supposed to do now.

 

He doesn’t want to go back to the Bovino after they practically thrust him into Vongola’s arms in exchange for the increased status and connections. Vongola doesn’t really want him - without the mythical guardian connection to one of their precious heirs, he’s just another outsider to the eyes of most. Like he told the latest heir - it’s complicated.

 

They probably sent him off with Reborn in the hopes that he’d find something useful to do with himself. Maybe become a hitman or find a convenient suicide mission. (Or, the logical side of his mind whispers, they want to to bond with their next heir so they don’t have to go to the effort of finding a new lightning guardian).

 

In the odd moment when he actually managed to fight through his haze now days, Lambo thought he’d throw himself at Cristiana’s mercy. He knew he could handle her, but he didn’t think he could handle someone trying to replace Massimo in every way, from taking his spot in the family to taking his guardians.

 

The phone rings, loud and sudden in the silence.

 

Lambo doesn’t let it go beyond the first ring.

 

“Bovino speaking.”

 

“Have you eaten lunch today?”

 

Lambo’s eyes move listlessly to the clean breakfast dishes sitting in the rack. “No.”

 

“Do you have the food required to make yourself a healthy lunch?”

 

“No.”

 

“You need to take care of yourself. I’m not getting paid to babysit you. Get yourself a healthy lunch and get to the clearing.”  _ Click. _

 

That. That is why Lambo actually stayed. Reborn doesn’t care that Massimo died. Reborn doesn’t care that Lambo hurts beyond the fact that it makes his own job harder. He isn’t trying to avoid him or give him empty platitudes or telling him time will heal him. All Reborn does is give him his next task.

 

Lambo shifts to get off the bed, and he has to brace himself when black and white spots clods is eyes and his sense of balance swings wildly out of his control for a moment. He blinks the spots out of his eyes and waits for his balance to come back to him. The headache stays with him, and he glances guiltily at the cupboards. There isn’t really anything healthy there, but Massimo would have told him to eat something, anything anyways.

 

He knows he should eat something. He just . . . doesn’t.

 

Lambo shakes his head and grabs his keys and the bottle of Dying Will Pills from the ledge in the way out.

 

As he passes through the business center, he grabs a couple of steamed pork buns and a cup of cheap matcha green tea from a street vendor. He wolfs the first one down as he wanders through the businesses, and he’s worked his way through half of the second bun by the time he’s reached the forest. By the time he’s reached the clearing that Reborn had designated as the training ground, he’d done with that second pork bun and drowning the last of his tea.

 

Neither Reborn nor Sawada are there, so Lambo settles himself on the ground in the shadow of the cliff. There are rocks poking uncomfortably into his back, and he shifts so that they’re poking eve harder, most of them veering straight into the area of pain. He doesn’t want to fall asleep here. He’d probably wake up, throwing up, on himself, because that was what happened last time he fell asleep in a forest.

 

Nightmares, you know? They’re the worst. Especially when you’re remembering that one time you betrayed the one person people had told you was literally more important than you in every way. So yeah, Lambo wasn’t going to sleep. Forests held to many memories. He dutifully shifted to make the rocks at the back more uncomfortable every time his eyes wanted to stay shut, and ignored the bruises he could practically feel forming.

 

Maybe an hour or two after he’d arrived, voices begin to filter through the trees.

 

Lambo glances up from contemplating the line of ants that goes under his legs and watches as Reborn walks ahead of Sawada and two of his guardians. 

 

“. . . try this again.”

 

“Are you extremely going to shoot him again?” the teen with white hair asked as Lambo pushed himself to his feet.

 

“No,” Reborn says, and Lambo, in front of him can see the shifting in his jaw that mean he’s gritting his teeth. “Obviously, that didn’t work.”

 

“You shot him?” the teen with black hair asks. “I see! Good practice for when Hibari arms the Discipline Committee with guns!”

 

“Hello,” Sawada Tsunayoshi calls as he enters the clearing, his eyes set on Lambo in a clear effort to ignore the squabbling going on around him.

 

“Bovino, are you ready?” Reborn demands before Lambo can do much more than blink.

 

Lambo rattles his pills obligingly, watching for the signal that he’s to take one. He pops a pill as soon as he get the go ahead, and lets himself fall into the reassuring blankness where he doesn’t have to feel, just has to think about his next move.

 

Reborn had talked with him last night over a meal the hitman had made in his own kitchen. After the disaster of what happened last time, and especially after double checking the records, it had been decided that at least for a little while, there would be no more shooting the suicidal civilian. Reborn had muttered something about getting Lal to beat up her deadbeat boss because this was the second damn thing about his family, etc, etc., before telling Lambo to focus on how Tsuna reacted to being attacked/

 

Lambo doesn’t watch Leon as the chameleon is raised to the sky in gun form, and neither does Sawada Tsunayoshi. They both watch each other, and for an eternal moment, Lambo forgets where they are. He forgets everything but brown eyes and the way Massimo laughed the last night Lambo saw him.

 

Then the gun goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! Here's the next chapter, with some insight into Lambo's perspective. It feels rather repetitive, but I hope you guys like it anyways!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takeshi doesn’t want to be serious. The last time he was serious, he had to give up the hobby that he was hanging his identity on.

Takeshi knows what it looks like when someone knows how to fight.

 

His parents are, after all, assassins who agreed that an innocent childhood would be a pipe dream for any child of theirs.

 

His mother, before she died, had taught him what she could of various hand-to-hand styles, and while most of his time was taken up by his extra curricular activities at school, Takeshi still found time to go to martial arts competitions.

 

His father still taught him every Sunday morning, continuing his mother’s work, and allowing Takeshi to practice moves he’s picked up at the martial arts competitions.

 

Takeshi knows what it looks like when someone knows how to fight.

 

Tsuna knows how to fight.

 

Takeshi watches with sharp eyes as Tsuna throws himself back into a roll to avoid a high kick, and comes up kicking.

 

Takeshi’s seen this kind of fighting before. Not often because it was hard to find and he’d been focused on the more organized styles his mother had favored, but he recognises the general shape of the moves, recognises the what Tsuna must have been feeling when he learned to fight - however he learned to fight in the time since the hospital released him

 

Tsuna fights like he wasn’t taught how to fight. He fights like back alley, desperate, it worked on TV, tested and proven, if not the most efficient or elegant. Bovino’s rigid adherence to the structure of the forms he’d been taught only makes Tsuna’s complete lack of any such thing all the more obvious in the contrast.

 

Takeshi can also see that there’s something wrong. Tsuna’s missing something. Takeshi can see it on the way he keeps pulling back and moving out of the way just in the nick of time. He recognises it from his own spars with his father, from the way his father would unthinkingly reach for a blade that wasn’t there.

 

But it’s more than that. Tsuna’s stumbling, grazing Bovino when Takeshi’s sure he meant to land a solid hit. Takeshi recognises this, from the martial arts competitions he watches when he has time, from his own spars lately, from growth spurts that make his body unfamiliar.

 

On top of all that, Tsuna’s wincing whenever his right wrist is jarred too much, though he’s managed not to use it.

 

The fight is over in a minute, but this is just more proof that Tsuna knows what he’s doing. He’s got Bovino’s face pressed into the dirt and his arm pulled up behind him so that he can move without dislocating his shoulder.

 

“Are you satisfied, Reborn?” Tsuna asks in the silence, not letting up the pressure on Bovino’s arm.

 

“Where did you learn how to fight like that?” the kid sitting quietly next the Ryohei asks.

 

Takeshi bites his lip because he would very much like to know that too, but he can see Tsuna’s face from this angle and Tsuna looks like Takeshi’s father had when he came to pick up Takeshi from Ryohei’s house a couple days after takeshi’s mother died. He looks tired, and like he’d maybe a little sick of the world.

 

“Hibari Kyoya-san is two years younger than us,” Tsuna says. There’s a world of implications in those words.

 

(Takeshi remembers how clumsy Tsuna used to be, before . . . Hibari-san is two years younger, so for two years, did Tsuna . . . Was his clumsiness because he was hiding bruises and strained muscles? Was it because he was staying up all night to protect the school? Hibari-san had only really started to stake his claim while Tsuna was away from school. Takeshi can’t really see that, but . . . he remembers running around playing tag with Tsuna in elementary school. Tsuna hadn’t tripped then.)

 

Tsuna hasn’t moved, and Takeshi’s honestly starting to get a little concerned about Bovino. The angle of his head and the hand Tsuna has on his throat is probably cutting off his air circulation, but he hasn’t moved at all - not even slightly to try getting more air. Takeshi . . . well to be truthful, Takeshi doesn’t care if Lambo lives or dies, all of their interactions have been fairly antagonistic, but he’s fairly sure that Tsuna will care if he kills Bovino.

 

“Hey, Tsuna, let me see your wrist,” Ryohei says before Takeshi can think of a good excuse to get Tsuna off Bovino in the silence of the clearing. “Don’t think I didn’t see you wincing.”

 

There’s something off about Tsuna as he finally releases Bovino’s arm and stumbles over to Ryohei. The way his face hidden behind his bangs reminds Takeshi of the first time he’d seen Ryohei dragging Tsuna to the start of their normal jogging route. That was the first time he’d seen tsuna like that.

 

Takeshi wanders after Reborn as Tsuna lets Ryohei fuss over his wrist, prodding it slightly to check for swelling and whatever.

 

“Get up,” the kid demands tersely, nuding Bovino’s side with one polished black shoe.

 

Bovino moves with the nudge, and falls back into place as Takeshi squats down next to him. He doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of suffocating anymore, but he hasn’t moved from the position Tsuna left him in. The kid nudges Bovino again, and this time Takeshi leans forwards to push Bovino all the way over and onto his back.

 

Immediately, Takeshi can tell something’s wrong. Bovino is pale, and now that the sound isn’t muffled by the dirt, Takeshi can hear him breathing rapidly.

 

The kid’s expression doesn’t change, but he kneels down, getting the knees of his expensive looking suit dirty. “Bovino.”

 

Bovino doesn’t answer or make any indication that he even heard the kid talking, and the kid slaps him. Bovino blinks as his face lulls back to center. His breathing is still too fast, and his pupils are still blown wide, but at least they’re focusing now.

 

“Get up.”

 

Takeshi doesn’t want to be serious. The last time he was serious, he had to give up the hobby that he was hanging his identity on. It took him a year to figure out who he was outside of the popular star of the baseball team, and even now, he clings to Ryohei and his ancestor’s flute by his fingernails.

 

But nothing the kid says is registering with Bovino, Takeshi can see it in his eyes.

 

Takeshi reaches out before the kid can kick Bovino again. He thinks - what does he know about Bovino?

 

Mostly it’s nothing. He knows that Bovino is Italian. He knows that Bovino is mafia - which is like the Italian Yakuza. He knows that Bovino’s apparently from a different family than the one Tsuna is the heir of, but because Bovino was . . . friends? with one of the former ( _ dead _ ) heirs, he was practically an outcast from his original family.

 

Takeshi also knows that Bovino doesn’t normally fight hand to hand - can see the awkwardness of learned but not as practiced stances, can see the careful stitching on every piece of clothing that Bovino wears, tailored to hide the bumps of his guns and knives.

 

Takeshi doesn’t know what the green flames that burn on Bovino’s forehead after he’s taken those pills are, but he knows what Bovino’s expression reminds him of. It reminds him of no one meaning  _ are you alright? _ , of picking bones out of the ash one at a time, passing them chopstick to chopstick for his father to put them in the urn, of gathering all of his baseball things in a pile in the park - folding his shirts carefully, reverently leaning the bats together - and setting it all on fire.

 

Takeshi says, “Hey, are you free on Saturdays? I need a sparring buddy.”

 

He doesn’t sound casual, for all that the phrasing isn’t serious, and he wants to wince because he can hear it so obviously. Bovino’s eyes snap to his, and he can can feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling before Tsuna brushes against his back to let him know he’s there, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

 

Bovino’s still gasping, but he manages to draw in a deeper breath and ask, “W-what?”

 

“Are you free on Saturday afternoon?” Takeshi repeats patiently. “I still can’t beat my dad, but I know most of his tricks, and he told me I really just need to practice with someone around my own level right now.”

 

Bovino’s eyes flicker to the kid before he nods. He’s still gasping, but it’s slowing down and starting to sound more like sobbing that hyperventilation.

 

“That’s great!” Takeshi exclaims as he bounces to his feet and holds out his hand. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet. I’m Yamamoto Takeshi.”

 

Bovino eyes the hand for a moment before he cautiously accepts it. “Bovino Lambo, but you already knew that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter! It took some work to figure out, but I think I'm satisfied. Kind of.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a suicide run.
> 
> Chokoreto knows it.
> 
> Belphegor knows it, and he’s grinning as he stares Chokoreto down over the desk.

It’s a suicide run.

 

Chokoreto knows it.

 

Belphegor knows it, and he’s grinning as he stares Chokoreto down over the desk.

 

“Well?”

 

It’s a suicide run, and it’s not even just one of the insanely difficult suicide runs that you might possibly be able to squeak by alive with enough luck, it’s one of the ones where done or not you’re going to die. The kind you’re not supposed to complete.

 

Chokoreto stands and silently gathers the papers spread out on the desk in front of him. That’s all the response Belphegor needs to kick and and laugh.

 

Tripoli in Logistics knows it’s a suicide run too, and he waves Chokoreto into his office to see to him personally like rumor said he did with all suicide runs. The few Varia supplied bombs he still had after the last couple utter failures of missions he’d survived

 

Despite that, Chokoreto finds himself gently discouraged from the more expensive bombs and encouraged to trade in the ones he still has from his last missions. Tripoli lets him keep a couple of laughing gas and knock out gas canisters, but the majority of his grenades get turned in, and all knives but the knife he brought with him are put away until confirmation of his death.

 

It’s only once he’s been stripped of most of his Varia equipment that Tripoli helps him plan out transportation and a cover story. Tripoli chooses the name, and it's a bit weird, but not that bad. (Though Chokoreto is fairly sure that Gokudera - which means prison temple - is poking fun at the fact that he ran away from his fairly well off family to be a starving street rat. Whatever.)

 

The fight to Japan is fairly easy; the Varia private jet is arriving the next day, and there was already a stop planned in Tokyo to pick up a pair of assassins. Tripoli then spreads a huge map of Japan over the desk with the train lines in high contrast red. Namimori is in the Miyagi prefecture, so Chokoreto can just take Tohoku Shinkansen up to Sendai and make his way south on the subway.

 

With that settled, Tripoli pushes him out of the office, telling him to come back tomorrow for his new passport and other identification information.

 

Chokoreto goes all the way back to his room before he realizes that there isn’t actually anything there for him to pack up. He always carries all of his bombs and knives on his person, and his poison equipment is all stored in a Bovino-Brand Pocket Pocket-Dimension ™ anchored on one of hs rings. All of the clothes in the closet are Varia 8niforms - new or used - that he won’t be able to bring, and there isn’t anything else in the room that wasn’t there when he was shown in.

 

Chokoreto sits on the bed and buries his head in his hands. He tries to think - is he really going to go through with this?

 

He thought he wasn’t suicidal. - worked damn hard not to be suicidal -  _ needs _ to not be suicidal, and here he is, letting himself get pushed into a suicide run.

 

He should call Bianchi. Or - not call her. He’d called her every ten minutes in the immediate aftermath for Enrico’s death, and at least ten times a day for the next month the month, but listening to her pick up the phone wasn’t why he wants to call her.

 

He should write her a letter. He doesn’t have much to say, just  _ Dear Bianchi, I’ll be dead by the time you read this. I know what father said and I forgive you. Love, Your Stupid Little Brother. _ At least she’ll get some closure. Maybe he’d even write one to the perverted doctor, just in case Bianchi doesn’t share hers.

 

_ Gods.  _ Chokoreto leans forwards, letting his hands drag through his hair until he’s the hair at the back of his bowed head. Why is he so resigned to this?

 

He could just - if he just  _ called  _ Bianchi, well. Vongola is Vongola, and even a former Guardian should have enough pull to get him out of this job. All he’d be giving up is his place in the Varia and whatever sheds of respect he still has, calling his big sister to get himself out of a mess like a whiny rich kid. And he’d have to talk probably. And he’d have to see Bianchi.

 

But he can’t see any other way out of this because Varia Mooks can’ turn down contracts because they’re supposed to have been picked out specifically so that mooks could get a feel for the harder missions without dying and attempting to drop out of the Varia would only get him a knife in the back faster than he could say  _ I resign _ without the Mook Protections and there’s no way he can get himself in the next fourteen hours to veto the contract without anyone remotely interested-

 

And really isn’t all of this sad? He’d rather die than see his sister again, for all that he loves her. A thump against the wall to his left startles him out of his funk, and he winces when it comes again, and again, and again-

 

He doesn’t need to know when those sharing walls with him are having sex.

 

Chokoreto smooths his hair down and quickly escapes into the hallway. He pauses for a moment as he decides where to go, then turns on his heel to make his way to the cafeteria. He leaves the door to his room open behind him. There’s nothing in there to steal, and since he’s not going to get any sleep all night worrying, nothing to try either.

 

()

 

(He calls Bianchi anyways, once he’s done writing the letter in the dim light of the cafeteria, a half-finished plate of cookies and a glass of milk sitting next to his elbow on the table.

 

“ _ Riiiiing . . . riiiiing . . . riiiii-Hello? Mac- . . . Bianchi Superbi speaking.” _ She sounds half asleep, her voice low and rough and some of her consonants slipping.

 

Someone else mumbles something in the background, and he can hear sheets rustle as she shifts and murmurs a reply. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

 

“ _ Hey. Anyone there? _ ” Bianchi asks. She pauses. “ _ Are you the person who kept calling me when Enrico died? _ ”

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

“ _ Okay. Well, bye. _ ”

 

There’s a click and the dial tone, and he listens to that for a minute too.)

 

()

 

Of course, Chokoreto falls asleep on the plane. He was up all night - it’s a foregone conclusion that he falls asleep on the plane somewhere between muttering insults at Tripoli for not filling out the registration paperwork for school and trying to remember what he’s been vaccinated for.

 

He wakes up hours later with a start as the plane drops sharply. There’s another Varia squad on the plane with him, and his paperwork had been meticulously completed in his own handwriting, though he knows that he only got through half the first page.

 

He stares at it suspiciously.

 

He goes a step beyond that and Stares at it like Shamal taught him, trying to find the illusion. Nothing.

 

He Stares the way Iwolintshi taught him in the Varia because sometimes it takes one to see one. Nothing.

 

Chokoreto rubs a finger over the ink that notes (truthfully) that he has no allergies and watches as it smears. It’s even all in kanji.

 

Huh. He doesn't know what to make of that. Apparently some illusionist was feeling nice, for once in forever.

 

The plane jerks again, then the hum of the engine lessens slightly. The PA system crackles to life and pilot announces that they're starting the descent to Tokyo. Chokoreto checks his seat belt and leans back.

 

Landing doesn't take long, and he follows the signs in the airport to the train station. He follows the signs to the subway. He follows the signs to the subway. He follows the signs to taxi pickup. He follows the signs in the apartment building to the apartment. He opens the door and- . . .

 

“Alessandro.” Lambo Bovino looks surprised to see him at least, which is something. Chokoreto isn’t really pleased with the name though.

 

“How many times have I told you-”

 

“Yes, yes, that you are no longer Alessandro Superbi, that you left that name behind with your family, that your name is Smoke now - now wait, you joined the Varia, your name is  _ Chokoreto _ now-”

 

“You’re certainly acting lively for someone who recently failed to protect their best friend,” Chokoreto snaps back. He immediately regrets it of course, watching Lambo go pale, but to his surprise, Lambo’s shoulders hunch, and he lifts his chin.

 

“I can’t mope all day. I have to - I have to eat and exercise. I have to be healthy on Saturday.”

 

Chokoreto recognises that line of reasoning. He remembers that line of reasoning -  _ I have to eat well because on Saturday I hack into Superbi surveillance to see Bianchi, and I’m really not the best at hacking, so I need to be healthy so I can concentrate. _

 

He steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him. He toes off his shoes and walks into the kitchen to settle on the chair across from Lambo, letting the briefcase with his paperwork thump onto the floor next to the chair. “Just on Saturday?”

 

“Well, that’s all Yamamoto-san asked about, but it would be rather hard to be healthy only one day of the weak and not the others. Health is a continuous thing, after all.” Lambo studies Chokoreto, propping his cheek up with one hand. “Why are you here, Alessandro?”

 

Chokoreto weighs his options. On one hand, a Varia assassin has very little reason to be in Vongola protected space, especially when the heir is nearby and vulnerable to revenge. On the other hand, Massimo had been dead for two weeks. That wasn’t exactly the normal timeline to start calling in assassins to test the next heir, even if the family is likely to fall apart in a year. On a third hand, Lambo is much less suicidal than rumor has it he was not too long ago, and he doubts that Lambo was in close contact with anyone outside the new heir’s group.

 

Chokoreto puts his hands flat on the table and lets them slide forwards until they’re on either side of Lambo’s book. His voice is muffled by the table and completely deadpan. “Oh no. You’ve caught my dastardly plan. Whatever shall I do? I guess I’ll have to give up. Go ahead and lock me up- ow.”

 

“Stop it. I know the Varia won’t kill assassins for a failed mission, but you’re still a mook,” Lambo says with a frown. “Besides,” he leans back, “I think I’d like to see you try. Tsuna knows how to fight. I want to know what else he can do.”

 

“You sound like you think I’ll survive.”

 

“Alessandro, Smoke, Chokoreto, whatever you’re calling yourself now, if you don’t survive, I will be genuinely surprised, and I will probably follow you right down into the bowels of hell because no matter how nice Tsuna is, I’ve always hated people who kill the messenger.”   
  
“I’m an assassin.”

 

“You’re a bloody messenger who didn’t have any choice in the matter.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello. My name is Gokudera Hayato (for the moment). I am here to kill you. Prepare to die.”

Reborn watches the Varia assassin slouch down the hallway next to Lambo Bovino.

 

He taps a key to change cameras as they exit the field of one, and not for the first time, he wishes that he was smaller. Was it really too much to ask that if he had to be shrunk down, he could be shrunk down to something useful? Five years old isn’t useful - he’s nowhere near tall enough to be mistaken for an adult (or tall enough tom at least reach the counter without a step stool), and he isn’t small enough to crawl through walls (that aren’t meant to be crawled through. If he was two years younger, he could have made tunnels through the walls and trees of Namimori and and snuck around behind Tsuna like he’d snuck around behind his different students in their secret tunnel laden palaces in Italy.) He - wait. He’s just distracting himself.

 

He taps a key to change cameras again. He was distracting himself from Timoteo.

 

Timoteo. God, Timoteo. He should have seen this coming. He should have seen this coming for years now. Not to mention Enrico. Timoteo may have had him older than was customary, but Enrico is almost  _ forty _ . Was. Enrico was almost forty. And Reborn knows that he wasn’t around for most of Enrico’s training, knows he was mostly around to activate Enrico’s flames in the safest way the Vongola knew, but is this what Timoteo did to Enrico?

 

Did he send assassins after his fourteen year old son?

 

(Did Enrico’s guardians die protecting him? Reborn tries to remember Enrico’s potential guardians. There had to have been more than Sianchi, Shamal, and Romeo - Romeo was four years younger than Enrico, and Biachi couldn’t have been born until Enrico was twenty.)

 

And then in more recent years - well. His sons; Enrico, Xanxus, Federico, Massimo. All dead or missing in a three month period. Xanxus especially - the rumors that he was planning to take out Timoteo to make way for Federico went silent suspiciously soon after his death. His daughter Sveva and their polite but chilly relationship, even under the Fabrizia Vespa’s wing. The fact that he went and sealed a         five year old who managed to  _ naturally _ unseal their own flames. The fact that his current heir is a suicidal civilian after he went through every person of Vongola descent he could find, leaving mass chaos in his wake for the CEDEF to sort out.

 

And now he’s distracting himself from his student. He taps the key to change cameras and watches as Lambo slides open the door to the classroom. On the middle screen, he can see the classroom from within, and he switches his attention to that as Lambo and “Gokudera Hayato” walk in. It’s fairly early, early enough that Sasagawa Ryohei is sitting on Tsuna’s desk and chatting with him, while Yamamoto Takeshi sleeps with his head pillowed on his fellow athlete’s leg.

 

(There are one or two fangirls in the corner of the classroom who are spying on Ryohei and Yamamoto. Reborn is entirely sure he’s seen the surreptitious glint of a camera lens one or twice, but by his reading of the fangirl excitement meter, the scene isn’t too unusual for Ryohei and Takeshi.)

 

Tsuna and Ryohei turn when the door opens, and even Takeshi rouses himself from his stupor to glance up. Takeshi returns his head to Ryohei’s lap after a moment, deeming the pair uninteresting, the he does lift a lazy hand to wave at Lambo.

 

(The fangirls in the corner, on the other hand, go ballistic. Their previously discreet cameras come out in full force. One of the two even takes out her clunky Nokia cell phone, fitted in an obviously custom case with cherry blossom petals surrounding the characters for Namimori on a pink background to start texting. They are entirely here for the exotic foreign bad boy who already knows the hometown popular students and the other foreigner in residence. He has  _ silver _ hair, Himari,  _ silver hair _ .)

 

Reborn is quick to turn up the audio from the bug that he’d placed under Tsuna’s desk as Lambo and “Gokudera Hayato” approach his student. He also winces and turns down the audio from the corner that the fangirls are in. Why did they have to squeal so loud?

 

“Gokudera Hayato” comes up to Tsuna’s desk. He stares at it for a moment. More accurately, he stares at the things (Ryohei’s legs, Takeshi’s head) which cover it. He clears his throat. He coughs. By this point everyone in the room is looking at him, even Takeshi who’d sat up, and Tsuna and Ryohei, whose conversation had trailed off.

 

Lambo had buried his face in his hands, and Reborn could just make out his mumbling about over-dramatic prideful idiots, and how he should have known that changing things up would just make everything worse.

 

“Gokudera Hayato” glances around and sneezes as delicately as a cat before he decides that he had enough attention. He levels an accusatory finger at Tsuna. “Hello. My name is Gokudera Hayato (for the moment). I am here to kill you. Prepare to die.”

 

Then he frowns and turns to Lambo. “Does saying the whole ‘killing you’ bit twice sound repetitive? I mean, I was trying to copy Íñigo Montoya, but I think saying that I’m going to kill him twice kind of kills it.”

 

Lambo wheezes and flaps a hand in his direction.

 

Tsuna, meanwhile, is staring at Gokudera like a brick wall just hit him. “You’re a  _ nerd _ .” He says it wonderingly. Then, “Quick, what do you think of Tobiah’s Marvelous Adventures.”

 

“Er-”

 

“Wait, no, you’re Italian, have you heard of the Lariosauro?”

 

“How did you hear of it?” “Gokudera Hayato” demandes. “You’re Japanese!”

 

“Are we extremely going to ignore that he declared he was going to kill Tsuna?” Ryohei asks, the mic barely picking up his voice under Gokudera’s enthusiastic outpouring.

 

“I can tell you right now that he wasn’t killing,” Lambo says, before he freezes in bewilderment as Takeshi ruffles his hair.

 

“Relax. Tsuna’s going to take over the town,” Takeshi chides Lambo. “He won’t be taken down by one measly teen.”

 

“Ale- Gokudera is an  _ assassin _ . Granted, he’s being really obvious about this because he doesn't actually want to do it, but he’s a member of the best assassin group in the  _ world _ ,” Lambo exclaims.

 

Reborn feels a vague flash of pride at the paranoia that he’s managed to pound into Lambo’s head in the short time he’s had him, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by his annoyance at how casual his student is acting.

 

(He also glances at the fangirls to make sure they haven’t caught anything. They’re both muttering to each other, but a quick quick audio check reveals that they’re just trying to think of cryptids so they can impress the new boy.)

 

“Lambo,” Takeshi says, the tone catching Reborn’s attention. It’s not quite the same tone he used a couple of days ago, when Lambo was laying in the dust, but it’s not too far off either. “How would you say you compare to Gokudera?”

 

“Um,” Lambo says, casting a glance at “Gokudera Hayato”, who is still right next to him.

 

“Or we can do this later,” Ryohei says, glancing at the door at more people start to file into the classroom. “I extremely need to go.”

 

“You’re just going to leave us here,” Lambo says despairingly. “Alone. With an assassin.”

 

“Lambo, there are three of you, and one of him. You’ll be fine,” Ryohei says as he slides off of Tsuba’s desk. Reborn doesn’t really approve of that attitude - Tsuna and Takeshi don’t even know what “Gokudera Hayato” can do - but he will admit that that isn’t a subject that should be discussed there.

 

Tsuna briefly pauses in his argument about whether the Loch Ness Monster is real to say goodbye to Ryohei as he leaves. Reborn shift with a sigh as the school bell rings, and settles in to listen to a teacher repeat things he learned ages ago.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hibari-san - fight in the courtyard “ Kyoya is on his feet before Kusakabe has the chance to finish his sentence, and he almost misses the last few words. “- it’s Sawada-kun and the new kid-”

Kusakabe shows up, panting, as Kyoya signs a sheet to authorise the hiring of a new librarian.

 

“Hibari-san - fight in the courtyard “ Kyoya is on his feet before Kusakabe has the chance to finish his sentence, and he almost misses the last few words. “- it’s Sawada-kun and the new kid-”

 

Kyoya pauses in the doorway. “Get my cousin. The hawk one.”

 

Then he’s off, pelting towards the courtyard, one hand holding his gakuran jacket closed at the neck so that it didn’t flutter away. It’s not hard to find the fight - herbivores are already crowding together to watch. They’re probably there more for the peculiarity of seeing Tsuna fight than because there is a fight. Namimori isn’t  _ Kokukyo _ , but there have been enough fights between the local Yakuza and Kyoya’s own Disciplinary Committee recently that fights are almost boring the the herd of herbivores that pass them everyday on their way to and from school.

 

The sight of so many people so close together makes Kyoya’s fingers itch, thinking how easy it would be to take them all out at once, and as he gets closer, the feel of so many people around him almost makes him twitch at how easy it would be for someone to stab and hide in the confusion.

 

Kyoya doesn’t do anything as mundane as grit his teeth as he starts kicking the back of people’s knees, but it’s a close thing. Luckily, the herd doesn’t seem too inclined to make a fuss today because after the first few people Kyoya knocks down of sends scrambling, they disperse to the edges of the courtyard in smaller groups, where they continue to mutter among themselves. He resists the urge to preen as he turns wary eyes the the two fighters circling each other in the center of the courtyard, and the three boys who hadn’t moved off with the rest of the herd.

 

“Go Tsuna!” Yamamoto Takeshi cheers as Kyoya steps up beside him, Sasagawa Ryohei on his otherside acting as silent support.

 

The other foreigner - the one not currently fighting Tsuna -  has his head in his hands, and is muttering about  _ professional assassins _ and about how  _ you can’t become one if you’re a wimp _ and also  _ what happened to stealth?  _ as the foreigner currently fighting Tsuna throws bombs like confetti at a parade. Kyoya appreciates these questions as they answer some of his own and raise others that he, too, would like the answer to.

 

Alas, while he’s still deciding whether he should interfere with the fight (which seems to be bringing light into Tsuna’s eyes) or turn to one of the track herbivores and shake them down for answers (which would allow more property damage to his precious school), a high voice pipes up from around waist level. “You shouldn’t interfere with the fight.”

 

Kyoya glances down, about to barge into the fight anyways, just to be contrary -

 

And stops. Twitches. Pointedly turns on his heel and marches towards Kusakabe as his second nervously escorts Hibari Taka across the courtyard.

 

“Hello, Kyoya-chan.” Taka sounds amused as she pauses in from of him. “And how are you this afternoon?”

 

“Onee-san, I am well,” Kyoya says, dipping his head slightly, “though your client is testing my patience.”

 

He chances a glance back - and nope. Nope nope nope.

 

“There’s one of Those People,” he tells Taka, his eyes resolutely fixed on Kurokawa Hana as she approaches them with her friend Sasagawa Kyoko.

 

“Kyoya-chan, why are the monkeys fighting?” Hana asks as soon as she’s in easy speaking range.

 

Kyoya strangles the noise that wants to come out of his throat as the pair stops close enough that they could be construed as a part of his group, and answers his other cousin’s question clearly and concisely like a leading carnivore should. “I don’t know. The cow foreigner said something about assassins.”

 

He digs his fingers into Kusakabe’s sleeve and inches back surreptitiously to make their gathering into two close  _ but totally unrelated _ groups as his cousins look past him to the fight. He eyes the herbivores at the edges of the courtyard, and they eye him right back, looking speculatively over the two groups. He can practically feel the wheels in their head turning, and he stops caring about being mundane or surreptitious. He grits his teeth and drags Kusakabe further, sending his subordinate stumbling as he tried to -

 

“Wait!” Kyoya has to let go of Kusakabe as he  _ absolutely does not _ leap into Taka’s path. “There’s one of Those People! You can’t just-”

 

“Kyoya-chan. Having a grudge against Uncle Fon does not mean you can control who I talk to.”

 

Taka steps around Kyoya. After a moment, Hana does too. She pats Kyoya on the head as she walks past him, and Sasagawa Kyoko gives him the smile that’s dazzled the school as she follows her friend. Kyoya hunches his shoulders and grips Kusakabe’s sleeve again, his knuckles white.

 

“Hibari-san?” Kyoya can see Kusakabe’s eyes flickering back to the kid that is no doubt still standing near Yamamoto Takeshi.

 

Kyoya glances back, trying to keep the eyes up so he doesn’t see The Person. He looks just long enough to be sure that his cousins aren’t crowding with Tsuna’s little pack before he turns away again.

 

“Do you you want me or some of the other members of the DC to stay and observe?” Kusakabe asks.

 

Kyoya’s lips thin. No. He doesn’t want to leave some of the DC to watch. For one, he would rather be out there himself, beating up rule breakers. And for two, the cow foreigner said something about assassins. Kyoya’s not about to leave His People to assassins when he won’t face them himself.

 

“No,” Kyoya tells Kusakabe, releasing his sleeve. “And add a rule to the rule book. If the kid in the fedora is around, the fight is authorised, and no one is to interfere.”

 

“Of course, Hibari-san. I’ll spread the word right away.” Kusakabe bows, smoothing his sleeve, then turns and makes his way towards the DC’s room at a fast, but unhurried pace.

 

Kyoya watches him go, then turns vengeful eyes upon the herbivores at the edges of the courtyard, who though that his inattention meant that they could crowd together. He thoughtful weighs his tonfa as he calculates where to strike to forcibly thin the herd. Already, some of the herbivores have noticed the return of his attention and are making their hasty way out of the crowd, but most of the herd is still focused on the pops and banter behind him.

 

He spies an opening in the crowd, a spot near the middle where few people are.

 

_ Perfect. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this.

**Author's Note:**

> It's really AU. And it wouldn't let go of me. Also, I've been reading a lot of noir lately, so that definitely influenced the style, because this sounds nothing like my normal stuff. I'm so sorry.


End file.
